


Even the Best Laid Plans...

by CommunionNimrod



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Caretaking, Established Relationship, Illnesses, M/M, Marriage Proposal, and it ruins all his plans, in which Greg is incredibly sick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-23
Updated: 2015-06-23
Packaged: 2018-04-05 17:49:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4189239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CommunionNimrod/pseuds/CommunionNimrod
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Greg woke up that morning, he had expected to be excited, nervous, and determined.  Instead, he had a terrible fever.</p><p>Greg planned his proposal to Mycroft carefully and perfectly.  However, his body clearly had other ideas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Even the Best Laid Plans...

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Antheas_Blackberry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Antheas_Blackberry/gifts).



When Greg woke up that morning, he had expected to be excited, nervous, and determined.  Instead, he had a terrible fever.

 

The first thing his mind registered when he slowly slipped into consciousness was that he was absolutely burning up.  Furrowing his brow and sighing through dry lips, he kicked the duvet off his body and cracked his eyes open.  He was alone in bed, and he could hear the sounds of Mycroft moving around in the kitchen.  The younger man was always up and dressed already when Greg woke, and would usually have coffee ready by the time he was out of the shower, but this morning Greg felt a needy tightness in his chest over the fact that he wasn’t in there with him.

 

He swallowed, trying to get moisture down his dry, scratchy throat, and sat up with a grunt.  As he turned and swung his legs off the side of the bed, Greg was hit with an intense sensation of dizziness.  It forced him to shut his eyes again and plant both hands flat on the mattress under him, taking a shaky breath as the heat in his body flared.

 

Well, that was certainly not good.

 

It took a few moments before the feeling subsided and Greg could open his eyes again.  Taking another slow breath, he pushed off the mattress and stood.  His legs were rather wobbly, but thankfully he managed to remain upright. He swallowed again, trying to ignore how uncomfortably thick his throat felt, and tugged on his robe before making his way through to the kitchen.

 

Mycroft was standing at the counter with a cup of tea in his hands, sipping it as he glanced down at an open folder next to him.  He glanced up, a soft smile on his face, though after a moment it faded. Pale eyes narrowed just slightly, before the younger man pressed his lips together.

 

“You look terrible,” he commented, setting his cup down. Greg snorted.

 

“Thanks,” he mumbled, wobbling over to the fridge and getting out a bottle of water. Mycroft was up on him the moment he turned around, making Greg freeze and jump.

 

“You know how I mean,” Mycroft said, gazing intently at his face. Then, he reached up and pressed the back of his hand against Greg’s forehead. “You’re burning up.”

 

“I’ll be fine,” Greg tried to brush off, turning and taking a big swig of the cool water.

 

“You’re running a fever,” Mycroft said matter-of-factly.

 

“I’ve had worse,” Greg continued to deflect. “I’ll just go take a shower, spend the day in my office, it’ll be fine.”

 

“You are certainly not going to work,” Mycroft said, stepping in Greg’s way when he tried to move past. “You look pasty and your eyes are unfocused. Your skin was hot to my touch and you’re shivering.”

 

“I’m not-” Greg started, falling silent as Mycroft raised an eyebrow at him. He sighed.  Okay, maybe his body was trembling some. “Okay fine. Yes.  Maybe I have a fever.”

 

“You were out way too long in that rain yesterday,” Mycroft muttered, brushing his fingertips along Greg’s head again.  The older man sighed, his eyes closing as those fingers moved up to brush through his hair.  He hummed, shoulders slumping as every symptom and aching pain seemed to flare up in his body all at once. “You should not go to work, and I’ll cancel our dinner reservations for this evening.  We can go another time.”

 

Greg’s eyes flew open at that and he jolted upright again, trying desperately to ignore the dizziness it was suddenly causing.

 

“Now hang on,” he protested, trying his best not to openly panic. They couldn’t cancel their reservations. Not with… “I’ll stay home, but it’ll be fine. I’ll rest all day, eat some soup, all that.  Don’t cancel dinner Myc, I’ll be fine.”

 

“Gregory, even if your fever does break sometime today, you will be too weak to go out tonight,” Mycroft countered. “It’s just dinner.”

 

“I know but, just don’t cancel.  Not yet, at least?  Please?”

 

“You are an incredibly stubborn man,” Mycroft sighed, shaking his head. Greg managed a soft grin.

 

“And you love it.”

 

“Sometimes. Fine, we won’t cancel,” Mycroft conceded. “Yet.  That does not mean I won’t change my mind later.  Now get back in bed.”

 

Relief washed through Greg that he hid by drinking from his water again. He nodded, smiling gratefully and headed back up to their bedroom.  He fired off a quick text to Sally as he took his robe back off, taking off his t-shirt and slipping back under the covers.  He pulled them up tightly to his chin as his body began shivering again, closing his eyes and letting sleep take over again.

 

***

 

Greg spent the next few hours in fitful sleep.  He would wake up sweating and kick off all the covers on him. The next time he woke he would be freezing, and have to blindly grope for the very same covers so he could get warm again.  His head was foggy and throbbing, and his mouth felt so dry he could have been out in the desert, but he was too weak to get out of bed for water.  So he continued to lie there, defeated, tossing and turning until sleep overcame him again because no position seemed to be comfortable for very long.

 

The next time Greg woke, it was because something incredibly cold was pressed against his forehead.  He hissed through his teeth, brow furrowing, and groaned as he instinctively tried to shy away from the touch.  In a way, it was very comforting, but it was also too overwhelming.  A hand on his bicep stopped him.

 

“Sssh, Gregory, it’s okay,” came Mycroft’s voice, soft whispers that seemed to automatically bleed the tension from Greg’s pained muscles. Another noise left his slightly parted lips, a soft whimper as he turned back towards him.

 

“Myc,” he managed to rasp, before being silenced by a weak cough. He sighed, finally opening his eyes to see his partner sitting next to him on the bed, jacket off and shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows.  His face was gentle and concerned, and Greg felt his heart ache in all the best ways.

 

“Let me get you some water,” Mycroft said, moving what felt like a damp washcloth along Greg’s cheek. “I’ll be right back.”

 

The younger man stood, setting the cloth down next to Greg - yep, definitely a cloth - and left the room.  Greg swallowed, wincing slightly at the dull pain it caused his throat when he did. He gazed at the door, waiting for when his partner finally returned.

 

When Mycroft came back, there was a bottle in his hands. He smiled gently at Greg as he sat again, and Greg pushed himself up as well.  He slumped against the headboard, dizzy, and huffed out a frustrated breath of air before taking the bottle from Mycroft’s hand.  He took a few small drinks, enough to coat his throat and provide some relief, and finally regarded the other man again.

 

“Did I really sleep all day?” he asked, voice still hoarse but a lot better than it had been. 

 

“No, I came home early,” Mycroft shook his head. “Had a feeling you hadn’t even been keeping yourself hydrated.”

 

Greg raised his eyebrows in surprise.

 

“It was a day full of dull meetings,” he elaborated. “Anthea can handle it.”

 

 _I’m going to marry that man_ , Greg thought, unable to keep the fond smile off his face. It was a big deal, Mycroft leaving his office early.  Certainly a rare thing. It meant more than Greg could express, because while he’d always been good at handling being sick, it still didn’t erase the somewhat needy feeling he had to have Mycroft there. He was there.

 

“Lie back down,” Mycroft instructed, running his fingers through Greg’s hair like he’d done earlier that morning.  The feeling of it made Greg almost groan.  He did as requested, slowly shuffling back under the covers as Mycroft capped the water and moved to sit on the empty side of the bed.

 

Sleep came even quicker than it had every other time Greg had woken up throughout the day, with those wonderful fingers running through his sweat-dampened hair.

 

***

 

Later that evening, as Greg and Mycroft rode to the restaurant they had reservations at, Greg felt the nerves kicking in again.  Every few breaths he had to refrain from shoving his hand in the pocket of his jacket so he could wrap his fingers around the box hidden away there.  He still wasn’t quite sure how he’d convinced Mycroft to keep their reservations with the fever he’d had earlier, but he was grateful he managed somehow. He was just lucky it had broken so quickly after Mycroft had gotten home.  His plans weren’t ruined.

 

This night was months of planning.  Not that Greg was worried Mycroft would turn him down, not really, but he just wanted everything to be perfect.  This kind of thing had always been important to him, and he loved Mycroft more than he’d ever loved anyone, which made it even more so.  Now the nerves were settling in again, even more intense than they were when he’d woken up that morning.

 

It was after their meal that he had it planned.  They ordered a small dessert to split, and as Mycroft was talking with the waiter, Greg worried his bottom lip and glanced down at his lap. He pulled the box out quickly and held it there, looking up and nodding his thanks at the man, before glancing at Mycroft.

 

“I’m glad we didn’t cancel,” he said after a beat, smiling softly. Mycroft nodded.

 

“Yes, it has been a lovely evening.  Are you feeling alright?”

 

“I’m fine,” Greg nodded, ignoring how his heart was about to beat out of his chest.  He was, mostly. “Look, Myc, the reason I didn’t want us to cancel tonight…”

 

Everything felt like a vivid blur.  He probably sounded ridiculous.  But he powered through it, gazing over at his patient other half as he spoke, lifting up the box and moving it in between them.

 

“I love you.  More than anything. And I want to spend the rest of my life with you, Mycroft,” he said, voice trembling slightly. Mycroft’s eyes were locked on the closed box in his hand.  Swallowing, Greg lifted the lid and revealed a simple gold band, the kind Greg always knew the younger man preferred. “Mycroft Holmes, will you marry me?”

 

*

 

“Mycroft Holmes, will you marry me?” Greg mumbled.

 

Mycroft blinked, freezing and jerking his head up from the book in his hand. Turning to the side, he glanced down at Greg, who was stretched out beside him on their bed.  He was pale and slumped, skin glistening with a thin layer of sweat, brow furrowed in the fits of his illness.  His lips were parted, breath coming out in soft huffs. Everything about the older man and the fever he was suffering through, every piece of information and deduction, flew to the side.

 

Had he just asked…?

 

Mycroft blinked again, marking his place and setting his book down. Licking his lips, he reached for the still-damp washcloth and folded it up again, leaning over to gently dab at Greg’s forehead.  A soft whimper escaped him as the cool cloth touched his overheated skin.

 

What kind of dream was Greg having to say something like that out loud in his sleep?  If his concern for his partner’s condition wasn’t overriding his curiosity, Mycroft certainly would have woken him up by now to figure it out.  As it was, though, it was more important that Greg continued to sleep. It was important that they got his fever to break, and soon.  He had already begun to improve from the state he was in when Mycroft had come home, which the younger man was grateful for.

 

As Greg continued to sleep, Mycroft continued to keep an eye on him. He would leave the room occasionally, to use the restroom and to run the cloth back under cold water again. When Greg would emerge from his sleep, Mycroft would make sure he drank water before he fell back asleep again. They didn’t talk much during these moments; they were far too short to provide any kind of meaningful conversations, and Greg’s eyes were hazy and unfocused through most of it.

 

No matter what, though, Mycroft couldn’t get his mind off the words he had said earlier.  Greg had proposed to him in his sleep.  It was… curious. Add that to the fact that he seemed adamant to keep their dinner reservations that morning…

 

The conclusions were fairly easy to come to.  Mycroft sure didn’t know what to make of them, though.

 

***

 

This time, when Greg woke, things weren’t quite so muddled. He still felt miserable, sure, but he wasn’t so uncomfortable he was light-headed.  He barely opened his eyes before registering the body sitting next to him, and then blinked them fully open as he regarded his surroundings with a furrowed brow.

 

“How’d…” he started to rasp, shifting and looking around. _How did he get back in bed?_

 

“Here, Gregory,” Mycroft said, having set his book back down and leaned closer to his partner with the bottle of water that was still half full. Greg turned his head slowly, scanning the man’s body in confusion.  Mycroft cupped his cheek, bringing the bottle to his lips and helping him take a few sips.

 

“Why are we in bed?” he asked after, tilting his head to the side and blinking.

 

“You’ve been resting,” Mycroft said patiently, setting the bottle aside. “It seems your fever has finally broken though, thankfully.  We should probably get you in the shower and then get something in your stomach.  I guarantee both will help you feel better.”

 

As Mycroft spoke, everything dawned on Greg and he felt the pit of his stomach drop.  They hadn’t gone out to dinner.  He’d… been dreaming. He swallowed, shifting nervously. It was rare for him to talk in his sleep but he’d done it before, and having a fever like he had… Well.

 

“Have you been here with me the whole time?” he asked softly, shifting again some more so that he was sitting up a bit.

 

“Of course,” Mycroft nodded, hands folded in his lap. “How is your head, do you think you can stand?”

 

“I guess…” Greg assessed, glancing around their bedroom a bit. “Myc, did I… sleep okay?”

 

“No, it didn’t seem like you did.  Your fever spiked and you came in and out a bit deliriously. I was concerned,” Mycroft admitted. “This is the most coherent you’ve been all afternoon.”

 

Greg sighed.  He rubbed at his face roughly, finally realizing just how gross he was feeling. A shower did sound like a good idea.

 

“Gregory,” Mycroft said after a moment.  His voice was soft and uncharacteristically delicate.  It was not the way he normally spoke to Greg, or when he was doing something like negotiating.  He sounded genuinely cautious.  Greg steeled himself before looking at him.

 

“Yeah?” he asked.

 

“I doubt you would remember what you might have dreamt while you were sleeping, but,” Mycroft began.  Greg’s eyes widened. “You spoke a bit in your sleep.  Do you happen to remember anything you were dreaming about?”

 

“Um,” Greg began, unsure of exactly what to say.  Yeah, he definitely remembered.  He thought it had been real.  Damn fever.

 

“You asked me to marry you.”

 

Well, the younger man certainly didn’t draw the conversation out, did he? Mycroft was regarding him with sharp, curious eyes.  Eyes that made Greg wonder if he already knew the way this conversation was headed. Mycroft _was_ the smartest man Greg had ever known, and keeping secrets from him was damn near impossible.  He was honestly impressed with himself that he’d kept it quiet for as long as he did. Unless Mycroft had always known and was humoring him.  Also a possibility.

 

“Did I?” he asked instead of confirming anything, tugging absently at the corner of the duvet.  Mycroft hummed.

 

“You certainly did.”

 

This was not how he’d wanted to do this.  He was sick in bed and he felt disgusting.  Mycroft had been home taking care of him. Though, in a way, Greg shouldn’t have been surprised.  Their relationship was hardly conventional.  They met in an alley where Mycroft coerced him into a car even though they didn’t know each other, their first kiss was in the middle of a heated argument in a hospital room, and Mycroft had asked Greg to move in with him while on a plane and thousands of miles away.

 

Why would his proposal be any different?

 

So, taking a slow breath, Greg turned to lean over his side of the bed. He gripped the edge securely to steady himself as he reached under the bed with his free hand, groping around blindly until his fingers brushed along the side of the box he was looking for. With a soft grunt, he pushed himself upright again, closed his eyes for a moment, and turned to face Mycroft.

 

“Well, even if I had been sleeping, I meant it,” he whispered, holding up the box that he was now cradling in both hands.  Mycroft stared.  Biting his bottom lip nervously, Greg lifted the lid to reveal the gold band inside. “This was not at all how I imagined this would go.  What I had planned.  But I realized, we’ve hardly planned any of this - us - and this is just fitting in that way.  So, Mycroft, as I sit here likely still running a bit of a fever and in desperate need of a shower… Will you marry me?”

 

Mycroft continued to stare.  Greg watched his eyes slide down to the box in his heads, and then back up to his face. His expression gave absolutely nothing away, like usual.  Greg swallowed, keeping hold of his patience and doing his best to ignore the throbbing in his arms and his head.

 

“Gregory,” Mycroft whispered, and then amusement began to creep onto the younger man’s face. “You are utterly absurd.  And yes.  Of course I will.”

 

Greg huffed out a relieved laugh, grinning brightly for the first time all day.  For a few moments, his illness was the last thing on his mind.  Shifting a bit closer, he set the box down on his thigh and pulled the ring out, reaching for Mycroft's hand.  The band went onto Mycroft's finger, and Greg felt his face flush when Mycroft took off the band he had always worn - the one that belonged to his grandfather - and put it on Greg's finger in return.  Cupping his cheek, Mycroft leaned in and pressed a kiss to Greg's forehead.  The desire to song his (now) fiancé senseless was only overpowered by the fact that he didn't want to make HIM sick too.

 

"So, you would like to shower then," Mycroft finally said, tone light.  A hoarse giggle bubbled out of Greg and his shoulders slumped as he nodded.

 

“God yes,” he sighed.  Even sitting his legs were killing him, but he needed a shower badly, so he would just have to deal.  Of course… “Would you join me?”

 

Mycroft eyed him warily, and Greg just shrugged.  They gazed at one another for a few moments before Mycroft sighed, clearly agreeing.

 

“Someone needs to make sure you don’t pass out and wind up with a concussion,” he nodded as he began to remove his waistcoat.

 

“Did you cancel dinner?” Greg asked a few moments later, as Mycroft’s arm was wrapped around his waist to steady him and they were walking to the bathroom.

 

“Yes,” Mycroft chuckled. “Yes, I cancelled dinner.”


End file.
